Following them, we noticed that they're going to kill the people in my neighborhood. We hid behind a bush, watching through at the characters as they roam free. I turned to Eric, he had a disappointed look on his face. He shook his head and peered through the thorny bush more.
"Eric, um, what are we going to do?" I asked him, him sitting up and facing me.
"Probably find another way to get the sketch journal, or find another way to put them back," Eric replied, getting up. "Follow me. I think I know where they're going."
I took out myand aimed at our trail to get to them. It was dark, possibly about 11:30 PM at night. While walking down to Eric's way, I decided to talk to him, just to chat. "So, Eric, do you have lots of fans of Creepypasta?" I asked him, a random question in thought. He faced forward, but still focused on my questions.
"Yeah. Lots of them," he said, as we start heading down through the forest. "It started around 2010. As soon as I started to exist, I had to write stories for people. Even people make up their own stories. Ever since, those five years, I couldn't stop. I was made to be that way. If a new one was being created online, and if it would get a bunch of fans' reads or, etcetera, then it would be easily possible to come to life. That's why they have that journal, to have themselves free from control."
"But can't you just buy a different journal and get ideas from that without controlling them?"
"Yes. And no."
"What do you mean, yes and no?"
"Basically, that journal would only accept Creepypasta drawings and any other normal journals would make the sketches disappear."
I have no idea what to ask him, so I just kept walking, hearing the wind whispering through the dark, tall trees. We have been walking for what seemed to be a small light near forward us. It seemed to be shown through the trees. Us getting closer, we heard voices. These voices sounded shrill and young, like a child's. Getting more closer, we saw a campfire, but no children. The heat from the fire was already getting me a little sweaty, drops of them soaking into my red t-shirt.
In the distance, we saw nothing but darkness, but the voices were still heard. Those voices, I thought, they sound as if they're getting closer. And Eric found that out the hard way, because when I turned to him, he seemed to be pointing at something in the woods. I looked at whatever he was pointing to, but saw nothing. I aimed my flashlight at where he was looking at, and jumped back as I saw kids.
These kids seemed to be younger than us, about in the elementary grade age. There were lots, circling us. They seemed to look a little dirty, almost scared looks on their faces. I looked at Eric, him looking at me as if he wanted me to do something. "Rick, let's leave the woods now! These kids aren't looking for trouble, but they seemed to be ruled by trouble. I just stood there and done nothing. Eric shoved some of the kids away, and looked back at me. "Rick! Come on! Run!" he yelled as he pointed at the kids.
I turned to look at the kids, and they seem to be changing. They started to look a little innocent and lost, but now they look awful. They looked as if they were badly mutilated. The kids around us took their hand and each took something out of their pocket, a pair of bloody scissors. They held it out in front of them, seeming as if they're ready to attack. "Scissors are dangerous, so hold them safely," the kids say at the same time, running at me after. "Rick!" I heard Eric yell at me.
I start to run, shoving some kids away. As I run to Eric, I felt a sharp pain in my back. It was a searing pain that suddenly shot through me. Then that memory came back, that moment at school, but it felt worse. I had no idea what it was, but I kept running. My back was burning with excruciating pain. I grabbed at the pain as if that could stop it. It hurt so much, but I had to bear with it. I ran away from the kids, but they seemed to not be running. However, a tall figure was standing with them.
I stopped running and aimed the phone flashlight at the figure, who wasn't that far away from me. The figure was a man, but he was wearing a bear costume. He had something in his hands, and was holding it up. It was some sort of camcorder.
I continued running, and finally got out of the woods. It gotten a little dark out, but Eric was nowhere to be seen. I kept looking around to find him, but no luck. I yelled his name to see if I can hear his voice yell back. "Eric! Eric! Where are you?" I yelled, but no sign of him.
Great, I was alone. Nobody in sight, which might possibly mean I'm the only person in town. This may sound quite stupid, but I went to go hide in my house, which wasn't far from the woods. The house was dark inside, so I had to turn on the lights. As I turned them on, it was complete silent. Going to the bathroom, I turned the lights on. Looking at my back, there was a pair of long scissors stuck to my back. Red dark blood was stained to my shirt, making a darker shade of red. Stuck to the scissors, there was a piece of paper stuck to the blade. Slowly taking the scissors out of my back, the stinging pain came back. I whimpered a little, then taking the piece of paper off.
There was words written on it. I looked at the note, which read: GO CHECK YOUR EMAIL. WE HAVE HIM, SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL GIVE UP NOW! That explained why I couldn't hear or see him. I went to the family laptop, going on my email account. Looking at my notifications, I see some new ones. I went to the latest one, and there it was, an email from Smile Dog. Did he want me to see it? I thought. I clicked on the email, and there was only a picture and a small message.
The picture was Eric, he was being forcibly by who seemed to be Masky, Hoodie, and Toby in the background of the photo. The character who stood in front of the photo was Slender Man, holding up something in his hands. Eric's. It was there, and he had it with him. Eric in the photo looked beat up, cut up and bloody, like in the Creepypasta stories. I know that Eric can't be hurt, because he's a Creepypasta character as well, but I know he's in trouble.
"Eric!" I yelled to myself, running to the, and heading out of the house. And into the night to get Eric and the sketch journal.